


and lay down your arms

by eudaimon



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After DADT is repealed, Brad and Nate celebrate in the obvious fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and lay down your arms

_Let me hold your hands, your arms, your sides,_  
The small of your back,  
Your shoulders, and your wrists  
Your thighs, your ankles, and then  
Find my way inside 

 

It's 2.20pm on a Saturday afternoon in December. His cellphone hums in his pocket. He leans his weight against the filing cabinet, draw still open as he works it out of the pocket of his jeans. There's one text message waiting for him. He grins when he sees who it's from.

>   
> SENT: 2.21pm  
> FROM: Nate (cell)
> 
> Check your email.

He's in the middle of reading the article that Nate's emailed to him when his phone rings next to his elbow.

“Well, that's pretty fucking ninja,” he says as he answers it. He hears Nate laugh on the other end of the line. Across the office, Poke looks up from what he's doing.

“I'm coming to you,” says Nate and Brad might be imagining the touch of desperation in his voice. “Five hours in the air. I'll be there this evening.”

“Solid copy,” says Brad, and he can't help grinning.   
He hangs up on Nate and, five minutes later, he gets a call from Ray running his mouth about how they need to have a _party_ , a fucking _celebration_ and they need to invite Trombley and _what the fuck is Trombley's cell number again, that homophobic motherfucker?_.

Brad hangs up on him, in the end.  
Five minutes later, he's out of the door.

*

Waiting, he can't settle to anything. He spends his afternoon up to his elbows in the guts of a Triumph, trying to get it to run. He takes things apart and puts them back together, cleans each part in turn. He wears surgical gloves, purple, latex free. He's always hated getting motor-oil under his fingernails.

He listens to Metallica, but he doesn't really hear the words.  
He thinks about Nate.

When he's done with the engine he showers, thinks about Nate until he's hard and then jerks off slow and lazy with his back to the tiles. He bites his lip and imagines that his fingers are Nate's mouth. He comes under the warm spray of the shower and it takes him a moment to catch his breath.

He wanders through his house, air-drying and picking up a little, straightening, organising. He stands naked in front of his closet and picks out jeans and a t-shirt but doesn't put them on for a while. He opens a beer and drinks half off in one.

He thinks about Nate.

He finds a channel that's showing _Back to the Future_ and he sprawls there watching it, his laptop on his thighs, idly reading blogs and checking his email. He kills time. He dozes while Marty McFly's talking about putting your mind to it in order to accomplish anything.

The doorbell wakes him.

On the doorstep, Nate's pushing wet hair back from his forehead, wiping his face with his hands. The shoulders of his jacket are soaked through. The strap of his bag cuts in across his chest. He's grinning all the way across his face.

Brad's known him for seven years and he's not sure he's ever seen him look so fucking beautiful.

He has time to register these things before Nate's stepping into his space, crowding him back against the door, mouth brushing his and they're both still grinning and Nate's damp hands are cradling both sides of Brad's face and they're both laughing because it's been seven years and they've been screwing on and off for five and this is the first time that they've kissed near an open door.

The kiss slips deeper, slips serious, and suddenly neither of them are laughing. Their bodies press together, chest to chest, their hips snugly close. Brad squirms between Nate and the door, presses his knee forward so that Nate's standing there straddling his thigh and, when the kiss breaks, he's breathing hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Brad, and he's grinning again.

“I'm giving your neighbours a show,” he says but Brad knows that nobody's outside in the rain. He yanks Nate inside with him and shoves him back against the wall. He pauses for a beat before he's slipping down onto his knees. He pulls Nate's belt open, pushes his shirt up so that he can kiss his belly, lips brushing the trail of sparse hair leading down. He trails his lips over the outline of Nate's hard dick through his underwear. He pulls back enough to watch Nate squirm against the wall as he rubs his thumb over his balls. 

Nate's watching him with wide eyes as he pulls his underwear down and curls his fingers around his dick. He doesn't hesitate before he's sliding his mouth down over the first inch. Nate's fingers push into his hair, Nate's hips jerk forward, pushing his dick further into Brad's mouth. Brad kneels there happily and takes it, moves his hands to Nate's hips and lets Nate set the rhythm. He bobs his head, keeping it smooth and, above him, Nate groans softly.

And it's good. It's so fucking good.

“I can't believe you're this desperate for me to come in your mouth,” says Nate and that's _exactly_ what Brad's desperate for and he moans, bobbing his head eagerly, his hand between Nate's legs and squeezing his balls until Nate's hips jerk, his fingers spasming, and then he comes in Brad's mouth and Brad swallows it down as smoothly as he can.

_Fuck_ yes.

Licking his lips, he leans back on his heels and looks up at Nate standing there half-naked and flushed, his eyes wide, still smiling. He watches as Nate shrugs out of his jacket, drops his bag and pulls his t-shirt over his head. He strips naked in Brad's hallway and then he gives him an expectant look.

“On your feet, Brad,” he says.

“I'm not calling your Sir,” says Brad, but he does straighten up, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down around his thighs as Nate steps in and twists his fingers in the hem of Brad's t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Brad leans forward, pressing bare skin against bare skin and then Nate's walking him backwards towards the couch. He turns Brad, kissing his shoulder, rocking forward against him and Brad feels Nate's soft dick hot against his ass.

“Bend over,” says Nate and Brad bends, catching his weight with the heels of his hands and his belly sinking into the back of the couch. He feels Nate's hands sliding over his hips, hears him kneeling and then Nate's hands are spreading him and Nate's tongue is pressed against his asshole. Brad groans, low in his chest, his hips jerking against the couch and Nate groans in response, the sound muffled by the work of his lips and tongue. Brad feels a tremble in his knees; he can't remember the last time that he was this hard. He feels the press of Nate's thumb against him, rocks back against it with no shame whatsoever. It's been six months since they were in the same place and Brad finds himself absolutely desperate to get the shit fucked out of him. He groans again, impatient, and rocks his hips back.

“Just fuck me, Nate.”

The tip of Nate's tongue presses inside him. His dick twitches against the couch and he thinks about how difficult it would be to get come out of cushions and how obscene the wet sounds of Nate's mouth against his skin are. He can feel himself losing any will to control himself whatsoever, the movement of his hips erratic and squirming but then Nate's pulling away from him, straightening up and Brad feels one hand pressing in the small of his back.

“How much do you want me to fuck you, Brad?”  
He wants it more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. He shifts his hips, knows that he could get out from under Nate's hand if he wanted to but he also knows that he doesn't want to. He stays there. 

“So fucking much,” he says, shifting his hips again, pressing into the friction. “Please, Nate.”

He feels Nate's hand slip lower, squeezing his ass before he smacks him smartly. Brad drags in a breath through his nose and then he's up on his feet, reaching out with one hand to catch the back of Nate's neck and drag him in for a kiss, leaning closer to press his dick against Nate's hip. He grinds forward against him and fumbles him in the direction of his bedroom. 

The door is standing open.

The backs of his knees hit the bed and he falls backward, scrambling until his head hits the pillows and Nate's already between his thighs, spreading his knees around his hips. There's lube and condoms in the drawer in the night-stand and Brad reaches for it, dropping it on the counter before he lies back again.

“Put your hands up next to your head, Brad,” says Nate, as he reaches for the lube. Bed doesn't have a bed-frame, so he rests his hands on the pillow next to his head.

Nate opens him up with long, slick fingers, one hand on Brad's shoulder, his head bent, sucking up hickeys on Brad's hips and ribs. Brad jerks and bucks, his head tipping back as he rocks and works himself down onto Nate's fingers. He's trembling by the time Nate pulls his fingers out of him, so hard that it hurts and, when he lifts his head, his dick looks dark against his belly.

“Oh fuck, Nate, _please_.”   
He watches Nate tear open the condom and roll it down over his dick.

His hands are still on the pillow when Nate shifts, pushing one of Brad's knees up towards his chest, pressing against his thigh as he wraps his fingers around himself and starts to push into Brad's body. For a moment, they stay there, Nate buried deep in him and then Brad shifts his hips and bites his lip.

“Just fuck me,” he murmurs.

They move slowly at first; it's amazing, after everything was such a hurry, but they slow right down like they need to remember ever single part of this. Nate fucks him hard and slow and one of Brad's hands leaves the pillow to cup the back of his head and pull him down for a kiss. His heel digs into Nate's skin. His head falls back against the pillow. One hand makes a fist. He makes a noise that sounds almost like a whimper.

He comes between their bodies, his back forced into an arch that's almost painful and Nate keeps fucking him, long, smooth strokes and Nate kisses him, just before he comes, so Brad feels it inside him and against his mouth as well. He wraps both arms around Nate's shoulders and holds on, keeps him close, keeps Nate inside him for as long as he can.

Eventually, too soon, Nate moves to the side and settles there. It's a big bed but Nate lies down tucked in against Brad's side with Brad's arm around him and Brad's nose pressed into his hair. Brad is bone-weary but utterly content and, as he falls asleep, all he can think is that this is just the same thing as they've been doing for years but everything's changed.

*

He wakes up hungry and finds Nate already gone. He lies there, for a moment, listening to the house and hears the sound of someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen. He rolls out of bed, the air a little chilly but not unpleasant on bare skin, and pads down the darkened hall.

In the kitchen, he finds Nate standing in front of the open refrigerator in boxers and a t-shirt, eating strawberries by the light that's cast. Brad stands there for a moment, watching the way that Nate's lip drags against the fruit before he moves behind him and presses against his back.

“You too?” he asks and bends, pressing a kiss against the side of Nate's neck and sucking up a mark just under his ear. Nate swallows and then he lifts another strawberry and Brad leans against his shoulder to take a bite. He pushes one hand up underneath the hem of Nate's t-shirt, resting his hand flat against his belly. Nate's looking through jars and Brad's hand dips lower, cupping his dick through his underwear, stroking him slowly. With a half-eaten strawberry still in his fingers, Nate turns, curling one arm around Brad's neck as he kisses him. Brad grins against his mouth, his hand still pressed between them.

He finishes the strawberry, which ends up with Nate's fingers in his mouth. He sucks for a moment, his eyes slipping closed.

They sink down to the tiles with Nate already struggling out of his clothes.

On his knees, Brad grabs honey, chocolate spread, more strawberries. He pulls out the bottle of champagne left over from his cousin's Bar Mitzvah. He opens it with a noisy pop, takes a long swallow from it and then holds it out to Nate. Nate sips and a little spills from the corner of his mouth. Brad leans in and sucks at it. He pushes Nate back onto the floor where he lies propped up on his elbows as Brad trickles a little over his chest and belly, loving the ways that the cold liquid makes Nate's muscles jump when he leans down to suck it off. Nate gasps like he's ticklish and Brad grins as he presses chill kisses against the underside of Nate's dick.

He leans in and smears chocolate across Nate's lips before he kisses him, tilting his head to change the angle, tongue pressing into Nate's mouth. He rubs sticky fingers across Nate's chest and nipples, nhunder his chin and down his neck, across his belly. He shifts to suck, methodically, at each sweet spot, and Nate laughs breathlessly and sometimes he moans, and his hips shift against the floor. Brad teases his nipple with his tongue and the edges of his teeth. He reaches up with another strawberry between his fingers and Nate bites obediently, his lips damp with juice and, for a moment, Brad just stares but then he smears honey on Nate's inner thighs and the length of his dick. Brad takes his time sucking him clean and then he shifts and settles down on top of him.

“What the fuck are you trying to do to me, Brad?” asks Nate, blushing and breathless and half-laughing, though his eyes are wide and dark with how much he wants it. A smile tugs at the corner of Brad's mouth and he leans in to take another kiss that tastes sort of like strawberries but mostly like Nate.

They start to move together, hungry for each other again, and Nate's skin is hot and sticky against his and their dicks slide together and Brad bites his lip and then presses his mouth close to Nate's ear.

“I fucking love you.”

Nate's nodding, his fingers pressing hard into Brad's shoulders as he rocks back, pushes back, as they grind together on Brad's kitchen floor like teenagers.

“I fucking love you too.”

By the time he comes between their bodies, Brad's skin is just as sticky as Nate's and Nate's only a heartbeat behind him, coming hot onto Brad's belly. Brad lets his forehead rest against Nate's shoulder for a moment before he's able to push up onto all fours and then to his feet. He holds out his hands to Nate and grins when he takes them.

“Come on,” he says and, this time, it's him smacking Nate's ass. “Shower. Now.”

Nate all but staggers towards the shower and Brad follows him, leans past him to turn on the water and then shoves him under it. He stands back for a moment and watches him under the spray of the shower, the smooth lines and angles of him. The last time that Nate was here, they showered together and fumbled like they were running out of time.

Again, it occurs to him that nothing's changed between them but, somehow, everything's different.  
He steps into the shower and leans against Nate's back, a hand braced against the tiles on either side of his bent head.


End file.
